@cerealkiller Dorothea
She mentioned how he should not have been in England, just like when they met.
“Yeah, I should be.” He chuckled softly, nervous to talk to her, unsure how to tell the story at hand. “After I had gone back to new Spain, I was informed of some news that returned me to my homeland, and from there, my father sent me this way. He thinks it best that I marry son.” Emmanuel summarized, omitting the part about the funeral because it would have been too hard for him to tell in so little time. It was not worth the effort to share the news. He did not want her to feel like she had to concern for him.
After all, what did pity accomplish? Receiving condolences from others was never going to bring his mother back, it was only a reminder. He wanted Dorothea to know the parts of him that were beautiful, not sad. Emmanuel already let her down, and it made him fear her nearness, yet still, in his mind, he wrapped his arms around her waist and told her “I’m home.”
His love for her seemed immune to time, at least now. After five years of not speaking, she was still the same person in the frame with which he painted her. Maybe she was no longer that same person, he did not know, but he did not feel far from her in that way. And in this moment he most likely should have been too anxious to approach her, because it was always possible that she would turn away. But he did not care. It was possible that he would have never seen her after this encounter, and he needed answers to the cause of his insomnia.
The first one was quick to reveal itself. Dorothea spoke of where her family went, and he briefly imagined their whereabouts, remembering the bits of information he knew about them. But then she spoke of James. He was gone, and Emmanuel drew back slightly, shocked, and ashamed he was standing so close to her when she might have been married. “Oh.” He uttered, pausing for a beat. It had completely slipped his mind that she could still have a partner right now, he must have forgotten himself.
And then the words echoed in his mind. James was no longer with them. Her fiancé was dead and although this answered what had happened between them, it raised many more questions. “I am so sorry for your loss.” He said, attempting to ease her while a million thoughts ran through his head. Did they ever marry? Was she now widowed? Was there ever redemption for him?
A large part of him was heartbroken, knowing she lost her betrothed, but there was also a quiet part of him feeling bittersweetness. He too loved Dorothea, and there was a reason why he felt the need to save her from that man. And at least then, he thought that maybe if something happened to him, then she could be free. Her comment also brought him back to his mother, and how he almost told Dorothea about her passing. It seemed they had both lost many things when they were apart.
Emmanuel then remembered the series of baskets for bidding, the last basket in particular.
“Yours was the one with the Lavenders, wasn’t it?” He asked, now knowing why it was there, and why he bid on it.
It reminded him of her.